


Reascending

by kakkoweeb



Series: Celebrations [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, White Day, lots of rambling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 15:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10281860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakkoweeb/pseuds/kakkoweeb
Summary: A month after the day of hearts, Kageyama and Oikawa return to try and overcome a few regrets.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the summary is actually incomplete. here is the true version: A month after the day of hearts, Kageyama and Oikawa (and the author, Ro) return to try and overcome a few regrets.
> 
> so yes basically i was too busy dying to write anything for v-day and i felt so bad that i ended up getting inspiration for white day lmao. that being said, if you haven’t read the rest of the series, please do so because this will be the ePIC CONCLUSION or something like that and so that you can catch the parallels. yes i’m pretending i know how to write

He didn’t do anything for Valentine’s Day.

To be honest, if you really thought about it, there wasn’t much of a reason for him to. Who was he kidding anyway? Just because he’d gotten into one too many almost romantic circumstances with an ex-upperclassman that kept him on his toes didn’t mean that he had to do something, didn’t mean that they _were_ something. But there was no denying that there _was something_ inside Kageyama that kept nagging at him, telling him that he was missing an opportunity, heading towards what would be one of the biggest regrets he’d ever have in his life, by simply staring at the chocolates for sale in nearly every corner of the street on the 14 th of February instead of purchasing.

And boy, was that nagging feeling right.

Now, a month later, he was standing still on the sidewalk midway through Karasuno and Aoba Johsai, chewing on his bottom lip, his bag harbouring a box of chocolates. This was dumb, he told himself. Yes, Valentine’s Day was for girls to make chocolates for the guys they liked and White Day was for the guys they liked to respond [or not] to their feelings, but that didn’t mean that it was the time for a guy to approach _another guy_ and give him something after having received nothing, did it? Did it?

Did it really matter at this point?

A lot had happened on the night of Christmas eve, when they last saw each other—conversations, provocations, kisses, _smiles—_ but a lot had happened after too. Having spent months without seeing even glimpses of Oikawa [and therefore, having spent months free from the blood-curdling nervousness that came with him] gave Kageyama much room to think, more room than he could ever hope to have, actually. It really shouldn’t have been top priority given everything he had on his plate, but Oikawa never really did learn how to become second best at anything—and apparently, that included taking over Kageyama’s focus.

Oikawa had always been and would probably never cease to be a miracle sort of presence in Kageyama’s life. Something like an annoyingly-bright light always shining above him, causing him discomfort and yet leaving him feeling exhilarated all the time, pushing him to be the best version of himself there could ever be. These last few months hadn’t changed that, not really, but what was different now was that he’d managed to look straight at that light without going blind, felt closer to touching it, now more than ever.

So no, if Kageyama were to be honest with himself, it really didn’t matter whether any of this was conventional or not, because these last few months hadn’t been conventional at all. Because he and Oikawa weren’t conventional at all. Because although he was out on the streets alone with chocolates and he was in the middle of a heated debate whether or not his legs had the capacity to carry him to another school and his hands were going to be able to give them away and his mouth would be able to say its piece, currently resting in his head and heart, about eight months ago he was in a similar situation: holding a box of cake he hadn’t meant to buy on a day he hadn’t meant to remember, and a lot had changed since then. Because _he_ had changed since then, discovered some things about himself and whom he had accidentally bought a cake for, whom he had deliberately bought chocolate for today.

If eight months ago, he’d been absent-minded and seen it through, this time he was going to be brave, take the initiative, and see it through.

Still, his breaths were shaky as he walked, his heart rate rising steadily the moment he saw the towering structure that was Aoba Johsai getting closer and closer.

A few steps away from the main gate, he stopped to check himself. Like the last time he was here, he only had his casual, non-Karasuno shirt and non-Karasuno pants to mask the fact that he _was_ from Karasuno and allow him to blend with the crowd of seemingly elite students, and although it had worked like a charm before, he was more guarded than ever, more wary, as if the students loitering inside would suddenly acquire X-ray vision and spot the chocolates he was wielding amidst the rest of his regular stuff.

They wouldn’t, he told himself, huffing out a breath of moderate panic. But before he could finish conditioning himself to step onto school grounds, three familiar faces were stepping out—and then his moderate panic was suddenly a flicker of severe panic and he was freezing over, abruptly looking away from their forms and staring at the ground like it didn’t make him seem like a complete idiot.

“Kageyama?”

He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to look at them. But this time, there was no running away. He wasn’t outside some random cake shop on Oikawa’s birthday anymore; he was standing outside Oikawa’s school on White Day and there wasn’t any excuse he could possibly give for that—not that he’d ever need one. And so, channelling whatever bravery would come to aid him, he looked up and, for once, properly met Iwaizumi’s eyes.

“Iwaizumi-san,” he greeted, “and—“ He looked to the two other third years, realized he didn’t know their names, and shortly bowed instead. “Hello.”

Their smiles seemed friendly enough. “It’s Hanamaki,” one of them said, gesturing to himself, “and this here’s Matsukawa. What brings you around these parts?”

Kageyama felt himself shudder ever so slightly, more than a little averse to telling anyone [let alone _these three]_ about his incredibly well-thought out plans of bringing Oikawa chocolate when he had no idea where to even find him, but these were Oikawa’s friends; they’d been there last Christmas when Oikawa and Kageyama had challenged each other to near death. If there were any lines of embarrassment to be crossed, that had to be it, and he wasn’t about to allow himself to get thwarted by embarrassment anyway.

“I’m—actually looking for Oikawa-san,” he admitted. “Is he around?”

Suddenly the friendly air was scattering and Kageyama was staring at three incredibly stiff third years—Matsukawa’s normally-droopy eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them, Iwaizumi’s left eye seemed to be stuck mid-twitch, and Hanamaki’s grin made him look like he was stabbed in the middle of telling a joke.

He made his own face at them. “Uh.”

“Oh, uh,” Iwaizumi began, body no longer frozen but too-nervous expression very much alarming, “he—um, he actually left a little earlier, saying he had plans.” Now it was Kageyama’s turn to stiffen. “What—what did you say you needed him for?” he continued, but Kageyama didn’t hear it, too engrossed in the emptiness left behind by the bravery he’d channelled, vanishing in thin air.

Plans. Oikawa had left because he had plans, _of course._ What was Kageyama even thinking? This wasn’t just anybody he was dealing with—it was Oikawa Tooru, best setter in the prefecture, featured in Volleyball Monthly, worshipped by boys and girls of virtually any age; and it was White Day—secondary day of love, a day to spend with people you cared about and cared about you or else to indulge people who had done something for Valentine’s Day, expecting something in return.

Oikawa probably had a date. A date with a pretty girl from class who’d gotten him the best Valentine’s Day gift ever instead of just staring at chocolates like a hesitant idiot, because that was the proper thing to be doing on a day like this—dating pretty girls, not hand-delivering store-bought chocolate to another guy all the way in another school. Maybe it was wrong of him to think that he’d risen above his title as just ‘another guy’ in Oikawa’s eyes; maybe it was wrong of him to label everything they’d gone through as romantic when they were actually just stupid, ridiculously awkward.

Maybe he’d read the last few months wrong after all.

“Oh,” Kageyama only said, unable to notice the third year’s faces growing more and more severe with every breath he took. “O—oh. Well, that’s okay. It wasn’t really important anyway, I’ll just—go—“

“No, wait, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi stepped forward when he took a step back, “are you—“

“No, really, it’s nothing. Thank you for your time.”

“Dude, no—“ This time it was Hanamaki “—you don’t understand—“

“It’s _fine,”_ Kageyama pressed, holding his hands up to steady them, all just about ready to pounce and tackle him to the ground. He sent another quick bow their way. “I’ll be leaving now; goodbye.”

“Kageyama!” one of them called after, but Kageyama didn’t bother turning around or trying to guess who it was; he simply jogged away, huffing out several disappointed, frustrated breaths.

 

Back at the school gates, two Seijoh wing spikers and a middle blocker were itching to set themselves on fire—until Matsukawa was roughly grabbing his friends by the shoulders and shaking them back into their right minds, hissing, “ _Holy shit._ Somebody call Oikawa, _now.”_

 

* * *

 

The road to Karasuno already had certain associations with things and feelings Oikawa would rather do without—an overwhelming nervousness, a sense of not belonging, and some sort of twisted anticipation to see Tobio. The last one especially; with how often the guy already popped into his head, it seemed unfair that a _road_ would have adverse effects on Oikawa’s person all because of him despite his only having traversed it a full two times over.

Today would be the third, he told himself as if he still needed the reminder, given that he currently had a white, ribboned bag in his hands for public eye to see. Everyone knew it was White Day, and so everyone he came across as he walked along glanced at the bag, sent him excited looks or else just whispered amongst themselves, probably something about “young love” or how “the girl that’s about to receive that bag of chocolate is really lucky”. Oikawa could only bite his lip as he passed, marvelling at the fact that, unbeknownst to all these passers-by, the receiver of the bag was neither a girl nor particularly lucky, but a boy two years younger than him, one of his two notorious volleyball rivals, even.

And _boy,_ was admitting that embarrassing as hell.

But no, that wasn’t all that Tobio was. Even in junior high, he’d already been something else, something different that had a natural tendency to shake up Oikawa’s world in whatever way possible. Something like a shadow, trailing him from behind—persistent, conspicuous, constant, something he honestly should’ve been able to ignore but couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. Back then, maybe he could still tell himself he found it annoying and believe it with all his heart whether it was true or not, but now—this past year, today—it was different. They were different.

The last few months had been a whirlwind of indescribable emotions. Getting to see Tobio again, getting to play against him, and losing against him were just half of the extremely complicated equation, the combination leaving him with an overwhelming ache in his chest he couldn’t classify as good or bad, and that was a lot of development for him, he realized when he truly thought about it, considering his track record when dealing with that better toss, that genius setter.

But the rest of the equation was an entirely different development altogether. Getting a gift from Tobio, getting a gift for Tobio, playing the pocky game and _kissing_ Tobio were high on the list of things Oikawa never expected and still couldn’t seem to get over even months after. Just recalling sent his heart beating faster than the rate at which he took his steps and he could feel his face warming up—a perfect match to the fact that he currently held hand-made chocolates he was about to give away. People continued to smile at him.

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy any of it. They were all insanely awkward, badly-planned, perfectly-timed, expertly-wound kind of circumstances—certainly nothing that Oikawa would have ever thought he’d want for himself. He’d always envisioned meeting a girl, making her laugh, spending all his hours on her until they were old enough to settle down and live a model life, the kind his parents would want for him. But now he was having new visions: of him lightly arguing with a boy that had just done something ridiculous yet kind of sweet, of him going out of his way to do something nice for a boy who knew little about how to properly show appreciation until he was showing it in the best way possible, of him mercilessly teasing a boy only to end up passionately kissing him, holding him close, sharing small conversations while doing mundane tasks like washing their hands together.

He couldn’t help his smile. These were no visions, but the stories that uplifted his dry and lonely months, stories that gave ordinary celebrations the lustre they’d once lost. Stories in which he was the main character and in which the other boy was no hypothetical boy but Kageyama Tobio, genius setter, volleyball rival, local airhead— _the_ boy that could make the skin of Oikawa’s face red with a single stare alone, the boy whose smile made Oikawa want to backflip onto the moon.

And today was going to be the day the two of them got that straight.

Well, technically, that should have been a month ago on Valentine’s Day, but Oikawa had been too hesitant then, a little too unsure, too panicked that yet another holiday was coming upon them and anxious about what fate would bring them. As a result, it brought him nothing, except maybe regret that he hadn’t done anything and disappointment that Tobio hadn’t either. Then again, how perceptive did he really expect Tobio to be about feelings?

So it was up to him now. Oikawa took a deep, shaky breath, swallowed hard when the general vicinity of Karasuno came into view, held tightly onto the bag and passed through the gates. But before he could even begin to get his bearings and recalculate what routes he’d taken to the volleyball club locker room months ago, his thoughts were interrupted by a too-familiar shrill voice, screaming:

“Hey, it’s the Grand King!”

If he hadn’t been holding onto the bag as tightly as was humanly possible without crushing anything inside, he would have accidentally sent it hurtling ten feet away and onto the dusty ground. He only ever head the term the Grand King whenever Karasuno’s shrimp was within twenty feet and, sure enough, there he was, standing agape with the two other first years to his right. They all sent him bemused stares, the one with glasses in particular looking very suspicious—and then promptly glancing at the white bag he had in his hands.

Oikawa wanted to hit himself in the face with it. _Why_ did this keep happening to him?

“So it is,” Glasses-kun was saying, and the slight upturn of the corners of his lips was unnerving. By this time, the pinch server beside him was eyeing the bag as well and giving it a small, good-natured smile. “What brings the King’s King all the way over to our school for a third time?”

Oikawa had always been able to tell that Tobio didn’t get along well with this teammate of his, and now he was beginning to understand why. He raised an eyebrow at the smirking first year, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing Oikawa crumble with embarrassment like he’d done before. “That’s none of your business,” he said coolly, glancing around. “Where _is_ Tobio anyway?”

“You’re looking for Kageyama again?” Shrimpy said this time. “He left in a hurry earlier”—Oikawa stiffened—“saying he had to do something important.”

Something important, Oikawa repeated in his mind, trying to ignore the beating of his heart exploding in his ears. ‘Important’ could have been a million things, ranging from volleyball to school stuff to family matters, et cetera, and that was fine, _really_ , of course—Tobio was a person too and he could do whatever he wanted without needing to explain it to anybody, not even the only people he could call friends. That didn’t necessarily spell anything bad for Oikawa or invalidate every thought he’d conjured, every plan he’d set out to do since that morning..

Or so he told himself, but then Glasses-kun was breaking his train of thought, saying, “It _is_ White Day,” as if he was trying to be helpful. And maybe he was, but Oikawa felt his eyebrows furrow all the same.

He’d never pegged Tobio as the type of person who knew what things like feelings and dating even were—he seemed innocent, completely hooked on simple things like volleyball and food and with no mind for anything else that regular teenagers might gush over. But then again, that probably wasn’t very fair to Tobio, and who was Oikawa to him anyway but a long-time upperclassman, someone who’d spent majority of his time avoiding him for petty, hyperbolic reasons that everyone knew weren’t legitimate anyway? What gave him the right to think he knew anything close to what Tobio was thinking, what Tobio was actually like?

Oikawa prided himself for being able to read people properly regardless of how vocal they were. He understood people, he could act based on the way they acted, build relationships and plays and interactions solely based on their condition, their body language. These last few months he’d gotten closer to Tobio than ever before—and perhaps because Tobio was an easy read or because they had similarities neither of them could have ever imagined, Oikawa had been quick to assume he was interpreting Tobio’s words and actions perfectly, that he was doing good today by travelling all the way to Karasuno to personally deliver chocolates, that everything would go exactly how he pictured it would.

But for the first time, it seemed he was wrong. Kageyama wasn’t around and, instead, was off doing something far more important than Oikawa would ever be.

It stung a little bit.

“Oh,” he said, trying to keep his voice levelled, his body poised and collected. He wasn’t sure how well it was working. “Well. Good for him. I’ll be on my way too, then.”

He promptly averted his gaze to a far point, high in the sky, keeping his chin up as he walked away—further into the school as if he hadn’t just lost every reason to be there—inhaling the crisp afternoon air, exhaling the defeat and crushing disappointment.

 

Back where the three first years stood, Yamaguchi was making a face, looking back and forth from the path Oikawa had taken to Tsukishima in slow, successive glances. “Wait…I thought that Kageyama left early to go to Seijoh _for_ Oikawa-san.”

“He did,” said Tsukishima.

“Then why didn’t we tell Oikawa-san?”

“I just wanted to make sure of something. Now call him.”

“Huh?”

“Call Kageyama. Tell him his stupid crush is looking for him.”

 

* * *

 

It was difficult not to feel embarrassed and even harder not to feel completely stupid now that he was leagues away from Seijoh, looking for someone who apparently had other plans for the day, but Oikawa wasn’t about to let it get to him too much, and he certainly wouldn’t use it as an excuse to mope around. No, he liked to think he was a proactive type of person, a product of his choices and not his circumstances, and so now he was choosing to be sensible—choosing not to break down and to, instead, try and break down the events of the last few months, mull them over, figure out what went right and where they went wrong.

The more he thought about it, the less surprising it seemed to become. So maybe it all felt like some well put-together story or a twenty-first century fairy tale featuring two idiot high schoolers with an unstable relationship. So maybe they had their fair share of fun [ridiculous] times. It probably wasn’t and would never be that big of a deal—in the end, two idiot high schoolers were still what they were: Kageyama Tobio—local airhead, king of the insensitive, utterly oblivious; and Oikawa Tooru—drama king, ruler of the presumptive, absolutely full of himself.

And maybe that was okay. They were still young, still had lots of room to make mistakes and jump into the dumbest conclusions and let their imaginations run wild. Things with Tobio didn’t _have_ to change so drastically just because they were plunged into something [some things] outlandish and extraordinary. It would probably be fine to just go back to the way things were, to move on, because that was who Oikawa was—someone who wasted no time feeling sorry for himself, someone who looked to the future with his head held high and didn’t stay hung-up over the stupid events of the past.

He stopped.

Hadn’t he _always_ been hung-up over the events of the past?

Tobio had first come into his life four years ago: twelve, bright-eyed, bursting with potential. In the first half of Oikawa’s last year of junior high, he was just another benchwarmer, just another small boy with big dreams of stepping onto the court—but in no time at all he became so much more. Suddenly he was an adversary, a threat to the reputation and achievement Oikawa had worked so hard to build for himself over the years; a rival, someone Oikawa had to oust in order to fulfill what he told himself were his goals; an annoying underclassman, someone who didn’t understand when his constant requests for a lesson on service had Oikawa wanting to rip his own hair out.

But he wasn’t just any annoying underclassman. He was Oikawa’s.

How many times had he told people that—that he and Tobio were members of the same team, vying for the same position, and that he had Tobio under his wing—even when nobody had asked? How many times had he felt something different every time Tobio popped into his mind? How many times did he pay Tobio more attention than anything else, become exhilarated when Tobio was so much as mentioned? How many times had he felt a surge of pride rush into him at the thought of Tobio’s prowess, Tobio’s growth with the team that he was in now, and how many times had he talked to Tobio only half-conscious because his body moved on its own, got overexcited and said things that could rub anyone the wrong way?

He was a persistent underclassman, he was a nemesis, he was a rapidly-moving, fast-approaching ball of scorching hot fire that left Oikawa confused, unable to decide whether he wanted to get out of the way or burn—and Oikawa liked that about him. 

Oikawa _liked_ him.

He liked all of the time they spent together the past few months, but felt like they weren’t enough—like they were steps toward changing the course of their relationship, toward getting to know Tobio in ways that he hadn’t before, but that they were far too small and he wanted _more._ He wanted to see Tobio more, talk to him normally outside a bathroom, see him in casual clothes, maybe kiss him someday for no reason other than he could.

He wanted to see him today and give him chocolate. But of course it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Completely lost in his thoughts, Oikawa could no longer bother to be aware of where he currently was, where his auto-piloted legs were taking him, and so it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t noticed the vibrations coming from the depths of his bag as he walked. Not that it made a difference when he did; his hand, heavy with lethargy, rummaged around for it and lit the screen up before promptly putting it back to sleep when the name ‘Makki’ flashed onscreen. He didn’t really want to talk to any of his friends at the moment—not when they knew where Oikawa was and what he had set to do and could readily poke fun at him for anything. He didn’t need that right now.

What he needed was to get himself back together. He heaved out a deep sigh, tried to convince himself that this was but a small blow in the greater scheme of things, he’d already endured so much more through the years, he could handle this—but the disappointment really did reign supreme, was almost inevitable. It felt like he’d just lost one of the most important games he’d ever play and, unlike with volleyball, there was no one else to blame, no one else who could share the weight of the defeat, no ‘six who are strong are stronger’. It was just him, crushed by his own expectations.

Well, obviously there was no reason for him to be out on the road anymore. He supposed it would be best if he just headed home, in contemplative silence, alone together with his thoughts and his phone’s _incessant vibrating—_ what the _hell_ did Hanamaki want so badly that he wouldn’t stop calling about it? Shaking his head, rolling his eyes, Oikawa reached for the phone once more and [finally] accepted the incoming call.

“What?”

“Wow, okay, you sound grumpier than I thought you’d be—“

“Thanks,” Oikawa deadpanned, “now what’s going on?”

“Please tell me you ran into Kageyama,” Iwaizumi said, and Oikawa didn’t even want to try and repress his urge to groan.

“Of _course_ I’m on speaker again. Why am I even surprised?”

“Oikawa, listen.” This time, it was Matsukawa. “We’ve tried to call you like eighty times already so we’re not sure where he could be now, but Kageyama—“

“Guys, I really don’t want to talk about this now. We can just forget it ever happened.”

“But—“

“Just forget about it! I have no idea where he is, okay, he’s out doing something important apparently, his teammates said.”

“Holy shit. That makes it even better.”

_"What?"_

“Seriously, listen—“

“You tell me I sound grumpy and then two seconds later, you find enjoyment in me feeling like a moron?”

“Oikawa, I’m telling you to _listen._ We’re not making fun of you! We’re trying to tell you that Kageyama was—“

“Oikawa-san?”

His heart skipped a beat.

Matsukawa was still talking but the phone was no longer by Oikawa’s ear, his focus no longer on the words but on the familiar voice that had called his name. He didn’t want to hear anything his friends had to say about Tobio in the first place but right at that moment, whatever they were about to tell him regarding what ‘Kageyama was’ truly didn’t matter.

Because what he was, was right in front of Oikawa.

He was clutching tightly at his bag, a surprised look on his face, and as much as Oikawa wanted to be, he wasn’t any better. He could feel the wide stretch of his eyes and the stiffness of his limbs, his fingers curled around the handles of the white bag trembling with an effort he hadn’t endured earlier. It was almost like another completely accidental fairy tale meeting—Oikawa wandering around where he shouldn’t be, Tobio happening to be there and wearing regular clothes as if he’d known it was something Oikawa would appreciate—but he knew better than to get his hopes up this time. Unlike him, Tobio wasn’t holding a White Day present. Perhaps he’d already given his out.

Taking a deep breath, Oikawa struggled to keep his own present inconspicuous as he met Tobio’s eyes. “Uh—hey,” he greeted simply, because what else was there to say? “What—what are you doing here?”

“Oh, um—“ Tobio tried, one hand fiddling with the zipper of his gym bag and the other too-tightly clutching at the strap. “I was just—you know. In the neighbourhood.”

That probably wasn’t the whole truth—but if Tobio didn’t feel the need to give him the complete answer, that was fine. He shifted uncomfortably. “Oh.”

They were silent.

“Um,” Tobio began this time, “what are _you_ doing here?”

“You know,” Oikawa echoed, glancing up at the sky, highly doubtful that Tobio actually _did_ know why he was out here. “Just—uh, enjoying the after-school sun.”

It wasn’t his best excuse, but Tobio had no complaints. “Oh.”

Again, they were silent.

Unsure what else there was to do, what else there was to say, Oikawa glanced around, examining where he was for the first time since he entered Karasuno. He didn’t seem to be there anymore [he didn’t even notice himself leave; _god,_ he was pathetic] but rather, near a residential area. A neighbourhood, like Tobio had said. He truly _had_ intended to come to this place then. Maybe this was where he needed to do something important. Maybe this was where he met up with whoever he wanted to spend his White Day with.

The thought of it left an unpleasant feeling in Oikawa’s chest, and he couldn’t help his small scowl, couldn’t help but grit his teeth behind his tightly-sealed lips. He couldn’t look Tobio in the eye, not anymore, but sent him a brief, cold glance and took a breath. “So,” he said, almost curtly. “Did you have a good afternoon?”

He was sullen, half-expecting to see Kageyama wear a happy smile and nod—and very, _very_ surprised to see the opposite: Kageyama fidgeting, glancing almost sadly at the uninteresting ground below. “No,” he mumbled, “not really.”

Oikawa’s frown only deepened, only now it was more perplexed and less bitter.

“It’s—not really important,” Tobio quickly amended, probably taking note of Oikawa’s studious gaze. “What about you? Did you—“ He paused, bit his lip, spoke again: “Did you have a good White Day?”

The question left him cold, had him biting his lip in a similar fashion to Tobio, had him questioning why his reaction to everything had to be so damn dramatic when none of this was supposed to be a big deal. But he felt heavy, and somehow standing in Tobio’s presence made him want to bare everything, like Tobio’s honesty in all things suddenly made it impossible to lie. And so he took a deep breath, admitted, “No. Not at all.”

This time, it was Kageyama who blinked at him. “Oh,” he said, eyebrows knitted in some unholy combination of confusion and concern that Oikawa wanted to superglue onto his memory. “Can I ask what happened?”

Oikawa wished he wouldn’t, but now that he already had, he couldn’t stop himself from taking a breath to explain. “I wanted to give someone White Day chocolate,” he started, figuring that keeping it vague would also be keeping it safe, that sparing Tobio from his internal turmoil was probably the best way of steering clear of any external ones, “but they weren’t around. They were off doing something important apparently, and.” He paused, shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel kind of dumb now.”

“Why would you feel dumb?”

“I—I feel like me and this person were building up over these last few months.” He couldn’t stop the words from pouring out, all his previous cries of _just move on_ settling at the back of his tongue, behind everything that he truly wanted to say. “I mean—it could be nothing, but—we barely saw each other but every time we did, something crazy but also crazy good would happen and it—“ Had his heart fluttering, had his insides churning, had him smiling alone to himself “—it opened me to some things I never considered before.”

He swallowed, looked Tobio dead in the eye for a brief moment and then at everything else. “I thought there was—I thought there was _something._ ” And all of that _something_ having been reduced to absolutely nothing hurt in ways he’d never hurt before. “I wanted there to be something. And I thought you felt the same way, but—“

_“Me?”_

Abruptly, Oikawa tensed, froze, any heavy feelings now dead weight compared to the impending sense of doom settling in his system.

“You—you wanted to give me White Day chocolate?”

If he had forgiven his mouth for asking Tobio when his birthday was, and if he decided to give it another chance after it demanded Tobio’s kiss two times over in two different ways and two different places—he was unable to do that now. Because this mouth, Oikawa The Idiot Tooru’s mouth, had just basically uttered a confession. A _confession_. And to the once-junior who probably had someone else, probably wasn’t even interested in guys—let alone complete morons with terrible personalities and mouths that wouldn’t _stop talking._

Oikawa sucked in a breath, let his hand wander toward his face, fingers moving to massage the space between his eyes. If he made it out of this alive, he was going to cover his mouth with double adhesive and crawl under his bed for the next sixty-three years, but right now, there was no going back: he owed Tobio an explanation and owed it to himself to create one that would save his face in whatever way was still possible.

“Okay, yes,” he said hurriedly, oblivious to Tobio immediately reaching into his bag like his life depended on it, “now before you say anything, I know it’s ridiculous and I’m an idiot and—“

Tobio handed him a box.

Lips left parted, Oikawa stared down at it—cream-coloured, adorned by a golden silk ribbon and decorative swirls on the corners.

Chocolate.

“I was looking for you,” Tobio said, barely catching Oikawa’s attention. “I went to Seijoh but Iwaizumi-san said that you had plans. I…figured you had a date.”

For a good few moments, Oikawa felt utterly blank. There was a box of chocolates and something akin to a confession lingering before him, but all he could do was stare, his hand still over his face, covering his mouth—his mouth that was agape, now slowly but surely trying and failing to combat a smile. He felt the flesh of his cheeks getting warmer the farther his lips stretched across his face, the more he thought _Tobio got me chocolate and called it important, oh my god_. He bit into his lower lip and hesitantly took the box with a single hand, trying to ignore the trembling of his hands and his insides and his own raggedy breathing, and presented his own decorated bag for Tobio to take.

Tobio’s movements were just as shaky and unsure, and when he smiled his mouth was almost this ridiculous squiggly line, resembling that of a child’s who was getting ready to scream its lungs out, and it became all the harder for Oikawa to keep his face neutral.

“This is for me,” he muttered, completely awestruck. “I didn’t even think you would take mine.”

It was almost funny how much Oikawa could relate, not that he would let Tobio know that just yet. He was supposed to be the older one, the confident one, the one who knew what he was doing—and yes, he’d just gotten out of the most pathetic confession yet, but the floor was still completely open for him to redeem himself, mind you.

He crossed his arms. “Of course I’d take it,” he said, a stubbornness he himself could identify resounding in his voice, drawing Tobio’s eyes to him. He kept his gaze far away, his hands tightly gripping the box. “I wouldn’t let just _anyone_ kiss me without buying me dinner first.”

Tobio made a face, glanced down at the chocolates, and cocked his head in puzzlement. “But I—I’ve already kissed you?”

“Exactly. Which is why dinner is long overdue, now are you free or not?”

He’d been the one to offer but Oikawa could feel the tingling on his skin, the warmth of his cheeks and ears, the loud beats of his heart, all drawn out by anticipation and excitement. But if Tobio’s face was any indication, he wasn’t that far off: for the first time in months, he stood before Oikawa, face a lovely rosy pink, complementing his pale blue eyes that practically shone as he vigorously nodded a yes. “Yes,” he said, “I am. I’m free. Yes.”

Oikawa allowed himself a smile, but kept it from stretching too wide. “Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh.”

“So—are we going, or—“

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Stop it.” Oikawa allowed himself a light laugh as Tobio pinched his lips shut. “We’ll be stuck here forever. Let’s go.”

It was his first time in a long time, maybe even in forever, to walk alongside Tobio, headed in the same direction and without volleyball in mind. It was just walking, one of the most trivial things a person could do, but somehow it seemed like a big deal to have Tobio within his reach as he did so, ready for conversation and interaction like he’d never been before, and he felt as though everything _about_ Tobio was suddenly a big deal. Having him here, holding his chocolate, speaking to him about nothing, smiling at him—it was everything Oikawa told himself he didn’t need and yet here was, drowning in it, enjoying every minute of it.

For once, things had actually gone right, he realized. Emotional inner turmoil aside, Tobio had sought him [not anyone else; _him]_ out on White Day and he’d done the same. They were heading to _dinner_ together, though Oikawa didn’t know exactly where. It all happened so fast but it happened. He felt ready to scream, ready to run up a mountain and roll back down, at how convoluted, how crazy all of this had been. But right now probably wasn’t the time for that; not yet, because as he moved forward, Tobio falling into step beside him and listening to his every word, Oikawa had the strangest feeling that the next few months of his life [at the very least] would be even crazier than the ones that had already passed.

Suddenly the holidays weren’t the only reason he had to celebrate.

 

And equally suddenly, Oikawa was stopping in his tracks and biting his lips. Kageyama stopped beside him, watched as he hurriedly pulled out his phone and brought it to life, wearing an exasperated face. As he was greeted by the home screen, however, he seemed to mellow down, and Kageyama allowed himself to step closer and sneak a peek—only to be greeted by thirty-eight missed calls [ _wow;_ Yamaguchi had only left him fifteen] and four fresh unread messages:

> **Makki [4:34 PM]  
>  ** we hung up this time love us
> 
> **Makki [4:34 PM]  
>  ** we still heard it tho. we still heard it.
> 
> **Makki [4:34 PM]**            
>  nice
> 
> **Makki [4:35 PM]**  
>  and fucking FINALLY

“What does that mean?” he asked.

Oikawa groaned, but the corners of his mouth were struggling not to turn up. “It’s a long story,” he said, “and my friends are assholes. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

This time last year, maybe he would have said no. Oikawa already talked too much to begin with and Kageyama was never exactly interested in anything he had to say, given that half the time they didn’t make sense, but today [and from today forward], he nodded. There was a lot that the Kageyama from this time last year didn’t know, a lot that he was missing out on, and Kageyama wasn’t about to let any more opportunities pass him by ever again—not when there was a chance he could see Oikawa smile, not when there was a chance for him to smile back as best he could and watch Oikawa’s smile shine even brighter.

“Okay, well—it all started July 20th.”

**Author's Note:**

> aaand there we have it; the Epic Conclusion™. this marks the end of the main bulk of the series and i’m gonna mark it as complete but i might leave it open in case there are some more oikage drabbles i have to get out of my system. i think they’ll be eligible to be part of a celebrations series whether there’s a holiday or not—after all, EVERYTHING’S a celebration when it’s oikage! (cheap drums play. i cartwheel into a pile of garbage screaming “PARKOUR”)
> 
> time for me to focus on my ~~academics~~ multi-chap work now lol. i hope this series was mildly enjoyable at least? at any rate, thanks for reading! it’s been a wild ride
> 
>  
> 
> [talk to me i'm lonely](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kakkoweeb/profile)


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